


Ties That Bind

by QuillerQueen



Series: Love As the Moon Loves [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Other, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2019-03-07 05:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13427403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: On how Queenie Regina and Robin of Locksley, slowly and not without pain and hardship, started building a family, and which of the Merry Men had the biggest word at this important stage. Written for Dark!OQ Week 2017.





	Ties That Bind

Robin is fidgeting, and that's hardly a good sign.

Not that Regina's faring any better.

She's trying, for everyone's sake, to be calm, but there's so much at stake here, so much hanging in the balance. This afternoon will, one way or another, determine the course of their lives for a while to come. Still, pressure will only make things worse—hence the heroic attempt at stoicism. At least outwardly. At least for appearances. She's fighting a losing battle though. Robin sees right through it, she can just tell, and this is one of those moments she wishes he didn't know her so well, couldn't read her so easily, or generally just wasn't as observant as he is.

"We're going to have to do better than this," he huffs, "if we want him to think we're anything other than the nervous wrecks we both clearly are."

"Are you still sure about this, Robin?" she can't help but ask, ceasing her pacing before she wears a hole into the forest floor.

Robin works his jaw nervously, but nods all the same. He looks determined enough. He says he wants this—has in fact assured her repeatedly.

"Are you?"

"Of course," she's quick to say. He's already accused her of changing her mind or not trusting him enough after she'd given him one too many outs—but that's not it. She just wants to make sure this happens the right way, for the right reasons.

Little John materialises before them out of the blue—a testament to how preoccupied by their own thoughts they both are, because even though Little John can be surprisingly stealthy when he wants to, he hasn't put in much effort this time. He's alone—a bad sign—and apprehensive yet wearing an obstinate, resolute look as he approaches. Regina's stomach plummets—has he changed his mind after all? After all the talks, not without their share of disagreements, did the Merry Men decide not to give them this chance?

Robin steps forward, tensing up even more, but he keeps a straight face—and that's good, they both need to do that, or else Little John's going to have a very valid reason to go back on their agreement.

"John? Is something wrong?"

"You both have a death wish," Little John blurts out without preamble. "If you wanna be in Roland's life, get over it. The boy's lost enough."

Regina's jaw drops. She half expects Robin to turn on his heel and stalk off then. She wouldn't even fault him for it. He's already changed his lifestyle considerably, travelled realms, made accommodations and compromises—something which doesn't come easily for either of them—and now he's being asked to renounce that flighty temptress, adventure; and without her would he still even be Robin of Locksley?

Yet Little John is not wrong. It hasn't been so long since the Merry Men came to their rescue after a heist gone wrong, and though not entirely their fault, their recklessness and haughtiness had almost made it fatal for Regina in the very least, possibly Robin and a bunch of innocents if it had spiralled even more out of control. And they could have had a failsafe if only she hadn't temporary obstructed her magic just to prove a point. Yes, perhaps that's the key to eating their cake and having it, too. Little John is not wrong—they owe Roland that much.

Admitting to having a death wish is not the same as professing one's love for adventure, however. Regina, when she was still one with her other self, was confronted with this before by those who loved her enough to care—and dare do such a thing. Robin, though—this must be a first. It wouldn't be at all strange for him to seethe and storm and see red.

He does neither.

Instead he meets her eyes and works his jaw for a moment, then nods almost imperceptibly, exhaling when she returns the gesture.

Little John hums in acknowledgement and motions for them to follow him through the thicket, and Regina smiles at Robin, who flashes an equally strained, crooked thing as they venture forth.

It's a small miracle for them to have come this far.

* * *

Things had changed between them after that fight over Roland.

The secret meetings Regina had kept from Robin were no longer secret. Instead they became a carefully planned, precisely executed affair. Regina would visit Roland in the woods, and Robin would steer clear of the area so as not to stumble upon them. Roland was finally able to have those sleepovers in the castle he'd been begging for, while Robin would try not to feel butt-hurt and bitter about having to abandon the warmth of home, of Regina's sheets and her body once a week and go off alone to keep out of their way.

To Regina's credit, she never questioned Robin's staunch refusal to have anything to do with the child—or indeed any child—in any way.

Yet tension still lingered between them thanks to the elephant in the room.

###

"My father used to beat us."

The confession came out of the blue as they lied in bed one night, naked and sated, revelling in the fading bliss of the afterglow. It evaporated in a blink of an eye as she took in his words, and her limbs went from liquid to stiff as she moved to look him in the face. That wasn't something he wanted though, for he cupped the back of her head to stop her, stroking her hair to soothe what desperate pressure the gesture had required. So she only wound her arms around him tighter and, with a painfully constricted chest, let him speak.

"I had a brother, did you know that? A younger brother, Will. He ran away from home after a particularly harsh beating. Never came back. Father didn't even bother looking for him. Disinherited and disowned him instead. Mother and I searched for Will for months. Turned out he'd been found lying in a ditch with a broken neck. Buried in a mass grave somewhere, like a nameless pauper with nothing and no one in the world. Mother died within days of a broken heart."

Regina's breath burned in her throat. Now she understood where his reluctance to speak of his parents came from. Now she knew one more thread by which the two of them were connected.

"Robin, that's—that's horrible." She rubbed his bicep up and down, struggling to respect his wish not to be looked at while he told his tale. His words dripped guilt, and if she had to guess she'd wager his face was sunken with shame—and that was wrong, and she wouldn't stand for that. "But it's also not your—"

"I should have protected him!"

Shit, he sounded on the verge of tears. Let them spill, then, if they'd bring relief; she might even help them along.

"You were a child! Your father is to blame, not you." And now she sounded teary herself, wasn't that just wonderful, and at least her gentle, "It was never you, Robin," had all that pent up frustration collapsing from him lungs.

"Well, yes," he said bitterly, "admittedly it's hard to live up to the expectations of a drunk lord with just enough sense to strike where others won't see it."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. And yet we keep trying anyway…"

"Not your father?"

Regina shook her head against his chest—they'd spoken about Daddy, touched briefly upon the subject of Cora as well, so Robin was rightfully suspicious of just the parent to blame here.

"Mother. Drunk on power. She'd use magic on me to—" But no, there was no point going there, the details of her abuse didn't matter now. "And I wondered, too, what I could have done to deserve that, what I should have done to make it stop, but Robin—this is on  _them_."

"I suppose you're right," he sighed darkly. "But that's not the point. I can't fully explain why I said what I said—that I would never ever parent a child—without mentioning my despicable abomination of a father, so—"

"Robin, you didn't have to explain. You don't owe anyone an explanation."

"Perhaps not, but—you're not just anyone." Regina's breath hitched. She knew this was a big step for them, to have him trust her with this piece of him, to let her near a scar so deep—and he wasn't done yet. "I want you to understand that—that this, my reaction to Roland, isn't only about Robin Hood."

She'd figured that much, in the hours she'd spent agonising over the whole matter. (About her own role in this, and her responsibility. About Other Robin's. Not Roland's—he was innocent in all of this.) Robin had told her in no uncertain terms that his aversion to raising children—any and all children—went far beyond his refusal to parent Roland in particular.

"I've seen you together, you know. Not just in the forest that first time. Yesterday, too."

"Oh," she let out, unsure what else to say. This was news to her—she'd never heard him get back. How must it have felt for him?

"You're quite the sight together," he said in answer to her unspoken question. "You have the touch of a mother, Regina. It's—beautiful to behold. I saw it in that blasted villains' lair, too—the way you protected those children, and how you were able to comfort them even after their ordeal—even when you were badly injured yourself. Those kids are like me in some ways. Like my brother." His arms tightened around her. "Like you."

The criminal gang they'd managed to annihilate still haunted both of their dreams, it seemed. Half a dozen children, neglected or worse, forced to do their tormentors' dirty work, had been rescued from their prison thanks to an unexpected alliance between Regina and Robin and the Merry Men. But Robin was giving Regina more credit than was due.

"I'm an adult with magic. A reckless, temperamental adult even without it. You berated me for it at length," she reminded him.

"We both know you're fierce and courageous in everything you do."

Fierce, perhaps—not always as brave as she could be. But he wasn't finished yet, and this wasn't about her. This was about him, and so Regina swallowed her self-derogatory comments and listened as Robin elaborated.

"I may not have been able to help Will," he said, the sadness in his voice giving way to determination. "But I'm not a child anymore. I'm a grown-arse man, and I'll be damned if I let the past hold me back. I shall cower from shadows no longer. Not my father's, and certainly not Robin Hood's."

Regina wanted to rejoice for him, she did. The Evil Queen certainly would, but thanks to her memories as Regina Mills, she knew this sort of attitude, if not duly earned and worked for, could do more harm than good.

And she told him so. Told him there's no shame in trauma, because she knew now thanks to Regina Mills' therapy sessions with the cricket that some wounds take years, decades even, to work through and start to heal (the scars will always remain), and that everyone's process is different—and that's okay. She tried to tell him, in not so many words, because this new her still needs time to internalise a lot of what her old self already had, and this Robin is likewise darker and more impulsive.

Robin, thank goodness, listened to her clumsy tirade, relaxed a little with each word (she was careful to keep pity from her voice, to be matter of fact instead of condescending in the comfort she sought to give), breathing more easily as his chest rose and fell flush against hers. He took a moment to mull things over, fingers no longer restless but languidly caressing her hair and the expanse of her back.

"I want to meet him," he told her firmly, and suddenly she was the one freezing at his entirely unexpected words. "The boy who means so much to you. The boy who could have been mine in another life. He's part of your world, and so am I—at least I hope so," he added, and she could just hear the grin in his voice even as his palm, warm and protective, flattened against the small of her back.

Regina, heart aflutter, pressed a kiss to his shoulder in an uncharacteristically tender move (although lately such moments had become more frequent), then raised her head to finally look at him.

He seemed exhausted—no wonder after the conversation they'd just had—but confident.

"Perhaps we don't have to keep those parts separate anymore," he suggested. "I want to meet Roland."

* * *

_Here we go then._

After weeks of discussions and preparations on when and how best to do it, Robin is about to plunge himself headlong into something the outcome of which he's not the faintest idea of. He's about to make the acquaintance of the son of Robin Hood and Marian, and how he navigates this first meeting is crucial to their futures.

Roland has been told about him. Both Regina and his merry uncles have explained as thoroughly and as truthfully as possible exactly who Robin of Locksley is. He won't be playing Roland's dad or long-lost uncle; he'll be himself: Robin from a different realm, with a different life and different character, who just so happens to look exactly like Robin Hood.

Bloody hell, what a mess.

And yet a relief to not have to lie or pretend, to be introduced as himself instead of having to emulate someone he's not.

His greatest fear as he steps out into the clearing, he's surprised to realise, is not for himself but for this poor child who's lost so much and finds himself in yet another utterly bizarre situation tough even for adults to negotiate. That's a good thing, surely—parents are supposed to put their children first. Not that he is Roland's father, not at all. But his feelings are proof he's not a selfish jerk out to wreck a child in blind pursuit of his own goals—and the thought that he has it in him to genuinely care and prioritise the boy releases a tightly wound spring in his chest.

Perhaps he's not a monster. Perhaps children needn't fear him. Perhaps he needn't fear himself around them.

The Merry Men, half a dozen of them sitting around the fire, nod their greetings—they've met before, during a sort of a vetting process to determine whether Robin's presence wouldn't be detrimental to Roland—and the boy himself peeks out from behind Friar Tuck's legs.

It's the first time Robin's seeing him up close, and it knocks the breath out of him. He looks so much like Marian. The thick curls and the twinkling eyes are all her. It seems the boy's inherited everything from his mother and nothing immediately obvious from his father—and that's good, for she was indeed beautiful. It should hardly be a surprise for her child to be equally so.

The only thing missing is Marian's smile, but there's no way of telling whom he takes after in that respect, for Roland is not smiling.

He's staring, wide-eyed, as Robin takes one step towards him and stops. His lip trembles as he looks up at the man who looks so much like the one the child desperately wants but cannot have back. For a moment, an awful moment when a tear almost breaks free from Roland's long lashes, all Robin wants to do is run for itand never look back. What if this was after all a terrible idea that'll only bring them pain? But they've come this far, and he feels Regina's eyes on his back, can almost imagine the fearful longing and faint hope written all over her face, and he has sworn to not run. It's too late for that anyway; he might as well try.

Robin drops on one knee (he'd seen Regina do it, and he likes how it places child and adult on equal footing), and musters a small smile to go with his almost collected:

"Hello, Roland."

"Hi," whispers the child.

"You know who I am?" Robin asks with a touch of new nerves. It's what he's been told—that Roland had been given the essential facts so as not to be shocked at a sudden appearance of a ghost, but the child seems so utterly flabbergasted it shakes what little confidence Robin has.

Roland nods though, swallowing before he answers.

"R-Robin of Locksley," he stammers. "You look like my Papa, but you're not really him."

Well, that is heart-breaking. Simply heart-breaking. And for lack of a better thing to say, Robin says exactly that.

"That must be hard for you, to have me here, looking so much like him yet being someone else."

Roland shrugs, his brow furrowing in a manner Robin supposes is rather adorable as he considers that statement.

"It's a bit like Majesty isn't exactly my old Regina." Somewhere behind him, Regina gasps softly, but doesn't interrupt, only lets out a badly concealed sniff when the child tacks on: "But I still like this new one. Maybe I will like you, too."

Robin chuckles at that, and this seems to set Roland more at ease, too.

"Well, I already like you, young man—telling it straight, I see. So tell me," Robin invites, taking a risk, "is it okay if I stay for dinner?

And he waits with bated breath for the child's sentence. He wants him to be all right with this—he really  _wants_  him to be all right with this.

"Yeah," Roland nods at last and pats the log next to him. "You can sit over here with Majesty."

* * *

Conversation is lagging at first. Friar Tuck passes out tankards of ale, Alan-a-Dale strums his harp and improvises a song of Little John's latest mishap during a mission, and slowly but surely they ease into it. But the highlight of the evening undoubtedly comes not with the roast pheasant but the exquisite dessert of Regina's making.

Roland is bouncing on her lap with excitement as she scoops his share into a cone, a huge grin plastered to his dimpled face—and clearly he's inherited something of his father's after all.

Robin, admittedly still not on top of his game, makes a truly terrible pun about ice cream finally breaking the ice between them. For a split second, they all stare at him, and he thinks well, if they won't crack a joke over  _that_ , they've already rejected him. Then Friar Tuck levels him with a teasing comeback, and Little John snickers, and Roland bursts into laughter as Regina gives Robin a dazzling smile over the cold sugary treat she's handing out.

_Oh thank fuck._

It is only hours later, as Robin lies in the tent with a wondrously grouchy queen practically sprawled all over him so as not to be sleeping in dirt, and listens to the snores of the men and Roland's soft breathing where he's curled up clutching Regina's hand, that it dawns on him: they're building their own unique, hodge-podge family.

And this is all still new, and will be occasionally awkward, and forever convoluted—but it's a start.

Maybe the quest for family is the same as the quest for home.

You don't just find one.

You make one.


End file.
